


Swiftly flies the Arrow

by Maewn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Short snippits, Spoilers for Tresspasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:50:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5208209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the Inquisition, from the eyes of those around the Inquisitor and from the so-called Herald of Andraste himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brightly falls the Star

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so first attempt at posting anything Dragon Age related. I say first attempt, but I have an entire folder dedicated to Inquisition on my hard drive right now. Hopefully, this isn't too terrible. I am unsure if my elvish is correct, but until I hear otherwise, I am leaving it as it is. Feedback is much appreciated.

Hair the color of spilled blood, yellow-wolf eyes, green vallaslin that curves branch-like across dark skin.

All these things Varric sees, cataloguing in his writer’s mind for later. A story swirls around this elf, as of now unformed, unwoven, just waiting for the right person to spin them into a tale for the ages.

The elf doesn’t give a name, his voice low and barely audible when he does speak.

It is a musical voice, lilting and soft. Varric wonders how old he is. Certainly considered an adult, at least by Dalish standards.

He seems to get along well enough with Solas, the only other elf in the party, calling him _hahren_. Only time will tell if this elf, this _Herald,_ will be friend or foe.

* * *

 

Cassandra watches the Herald with dark brown eyes. She is still suspicious. How did he live when the Divine died? Was he really sent by the Maker?

He watches her in return, bright eyes following her as she trains. She ignores him, used to people observing her in action. And if she hits the training dummy a little harder than usual, no one comments on it.

* * *

 

He doesn’t care for the title. He is no Herald of Andraste, no prophet of a woman who was burned at a stake hundreds of years ago.

He is bound to Mythal, the All-Mother, and he quietly ignores anyone who addresses him as Andraste’s Herald. Solas begins to call him Da’assan, little arrow.

He allows this with a small smile. It is preferable to Herald. Though it is not his name.

_Din’assan_ would be a better choice. The death arrow.

* * *

 

“What exactly is your name?” Sera asks as they ride back to Haven. “You’ve got to have one, ya?”

The Herald smiles, not saying anything. He only hums softly, nudging his hart forwards.

“Ena’vun,” he says in that musical voice and it seems that the entire party quiets to hear him speak. “Lethal’lin, Ar nuva ma josa (kin, I wish you to run).”

The hart rears suddenly and dashes across the ground with a speed that is astounding to watch.

Cassandra knees her charger and gives chase, the rest of the party following after.

They manage to catch up with him at the pass. He is laughing, a bright and sweet noise.

He smiles, then abruptly become serious. “We’ll talk to the mages. The Templars are _not_ an option. Am I understood?”

Cassandra blinks and Varric can see the wheels turning in her head.

Solas inclines his head in acceptance and Sera just stares.

“Wot just happened?”

* * *

 

It is the following year as the Inquisition settles into Skyhold, that Varric sees a story begin to unfold.

Cassandra keeps stealing glances at the Inquisitor. And Varric has caught the Inquisitor, now nicknamed Arrow, glancing sidelong at the Seeker.

Bouquets of violets and snowdrops suddenly begin appearing on her training dummies one week after the Inquisition has finally sealed the holes in the walls and she flushes a brilliant red before carefully removing them. Varric is pretty sure she has kept every single one of them.

The two are walking along the battlements, so close that Varric could almost imagine their hands touching, when they start arguing.

He can’t hear what is being said but the warrior promptly storms off, leaving Arrow on the battlements alone.

It is moments later that Cassandra returns, face flushed and barely able to keep her eyes on the Inquisitor as she says something that makes Arrow chuckle.

He smiles, and presses a kiss to her cheek. She flushes redder.

* * *

 

They are an odd pair, Seeker and Inquisitor.

“His heart beats faster watching her, bright steel in the morning light, voice raised in triumph. Brighter, bolder, eyes like arrow shafts, lips the color of rose petals,” Cole says beside Varric, watching the Inquisitor sparring with Cassandra.

“Kid, what have we said about speaking people’s thoughts aloud?”

“But he’s happy. The word lingers on his lips. Perfect name almost slipping free. Vhenan. Heart of his heart.”

 “Kid…” Varric warns.

“And she’s glad too. Bright eyes, calloused hands clasped in hers, lips soft, more gentle than she would have thought. Warm despite the cold ice. Sweet, kindness in a place she would have never thought to look. Not like her mage, but new. A good kind of different.”

Below in the courtyard, the Inquisitor has deadlocked with the Seeker. He leans over their locked blades to steal a kiss.

“See?” Cole says, grinning. “Happy.”

* * *

 

He stumbles, the ground packed and hard beneath his hands. The Anchor sparks, the power of a nearby rift calling to it. He pushes himself up, ignoring the pain. The rift is only a few feet away.

Cassandra yells something but he cannot hear her over the snapping and crackling of the rift. Something slams into him, a glint of steel and he falls.

_Pain._

He gasps, lifting his marked hand up. The rift shudders as he brings the power of the Anchor crashing down upon it. With a screech, the green tear in the air slides shut.

He collapses, only now seeing the blade lodged in his side.

Cassandra is at his side, fear and anger and so many emotions swirling in her lovely brown eyes.

He tries to speak. _Vhenan_. The word just barely escapes him and then there is nothing but dark, inky blackness. And there is no pain.


	2. Sunlight in their eyes

Varric has never quite seen Arrow move like this. Fast and lithe, almost dancing away from the blows aimed at him.

The elf is terribly fast when he puts his mind to it. Moving like a breath of wind as Dalish and Skinner try to pin him.

The Chargers have been attempting to beat the Inquisitor for months now; the betting pool had grown ludicrously large. Last time he checked, Varric had thought Leliana was winning…

The two elves are knocked out of the ring and Arrow flips backwards to balance on a nearby railing.

He grins.

Varric catches Cassandra blushing out of the corner of his eye.

He shakes his head. Hopeless fools, both of them.

*******

“Da’len.”

“Hahren.”

“Do you need my expertise?”

“Yes, hahren.”

“How may I be of assistance then?”

Dorian peers over the banister; the Inquisitor is lying on the scaffolding, reports and books scattered about him as he leans over the edge of the platform, staring down at Solas.

Ugh. Dorian wants to toss a book at his head just for the hell of it. Hobo apostate.

“You said earlier that the Anchor was stable, yes?”

“Has something happened?” Solas steps closer, one hand outstretched as if to begin climbing up the ladder to sit beside the younger elf.

The Inquisitor shakes his head. “I was wondering just how much power I need to gather in order to match Corypheus.”

“More than what we have attained so far, sadly,” Solas replies.

The Inquisitor sighs.

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

******

The Hart bellows, wheeling as the Inquisitor urges them on. The party races from Skyhold’s courtyard, the sound of hooves sinking into deep snow loud in the early morning.

They hurtle past a group of pilgrims, down steep slopes with ease.

Varric is thanking Andraste for Dennet’s ideas of spiked shoes for the mounts. Cassandra clings to her lover, muttering prayers under her breath. She has never gone so fast on any horse before.

The Inquisitor’s Hart bellows again as the party reaches the edge of the bridge leading into the valley below. The sound echoes.

“Woah,” the elf says, tugging lightly at the reins. The Hart slows.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra says quietly.

“What?” her lover says, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t like brisk runs in winter?”

“Not at that speed, Inquisitor.”

He laughs. A bright and merry noise that Varric hears rarely.

“Too bad, cause we’re running all the way to the border,” the Inquisitor says cheerfully. Cassandra gives a muffled groan of dismay.

“Oh please no,” Dorian says. “It took ages to get the dirt out of my last set of good robes.”

“Come on, Sparkler,” Varric says, grinning. “Live a little.”

“Living is fine with me, racing the Inquisitor on horseback is not.”

“Hyah!” the hart leaps forward and the horses follow.

Varric is going to treasure that shriek of Cassandra’s _forever_.

******

“What does that word mean anyway?” Sera asks, gnawing on a piece of dried meat.

“What word?” the Inquisitor ask, lying beside Cassandra, head resting on her leg. The warrior herself is repairing a leather armbrace, brown eyes focused on her task.

“Venen,” Sera says, deliberately mangling the word.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” the Inquisitor is quick to correct. “It is private, Sera.”

“Oooo, is it dirty?” the elf asks, scrunching up her nose as she grins gleefully.

“Hardly,” Cassandra scoffs.

The Inquisitor chuckles, his eyes glittering in the firelight. Varric can almost compare the color to shining golden coins.

“Atisha, vhenan. Ar lath ma,” Arrow says softly.

Cassandra flushes.

Sera rolls her eyes. “Being all elfy and shite? Pffft!”


	3. Dark is the night

The Inquisitor walks barefoot through the hall, settling into a crouch beside the fire to warm his hands. Varric glances over from reading yet another bill.

“Good morning, Arrow,” the dwarf chirps.

“Andaran atish’an, Varric,” the Inquisitor replies. Bright eyes flicker up to meet Varric’s.

“Paperwork this early in the morning?” the elf asks.

“Bills have to get paid unfortunately,” Varric says.

The Inquisitor laughs, standing. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

******

Cassandra does not often wake before her lover. He is used to the early rising of clan life even after months with the Inquisition.

But still he sleeps beside her now, breathing deep and even. Cassandra traces the green vallaslin that trails down dark skin.

He stirs beneath her touch, ever the light sleeper.

“Wha-?” he mumbles, bright eyes fluttering just a hair open.

“Go back to sleep,” Cassandra says softly, curling closer.

He smiles and closing his eyes, sinks back into sleep.

Cassandra takes longer to drift off, memorizing the peaceful expression of her love. For it will not last.

******

Vivienne is quiet on the ride back from the chateau, her face half-hidden behind her mask.

It is only when they are within sight of Skyhold’s tall walls that she speaks.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. Even though the help came too late for my Bastien…thank you.”

The Inquisitor nods, one gloved hand clenched tightly on his hart’s reins.

“Take all the time you need, Lady Vivienne. A heart is a fragile thing no matter how high one builds walls around it.”

She tilts her head in acknowledgement.

******

Somewhere, Cassandra can hear singing.

Bright and clear and achingly beautiful. A soaring, sweet tenor echoes throughout Skyhold.

Green light flickers from a rampart on the southeastern edge of the fortress and the song abruptly cuts off.

Cassandra runs for the ramparts, taking the steps two at a time, heart thudding wildly in her throat. This is not the first time the Anchor has been unstable; since the fight with Corypheus at the Well of Sorrows it has been far more active.

The Inquisitor is sprawled on stones, curled into a ball, Anchor sparking.

A pained cry escapes him as the Anchor crackles again. Then a shriek of agony tears itself from the elf’s throat. He convulses, eyes wide and unseeing.

Cassandra leans over the ramparts. “Get Solas!” she yells to Lace Harding who jumps up from where she had been sitting with Krem.

“On it!” Harding shouts over her shoulder, already running for the hall.

The Inquisitor screams again and Cassandra’s heart wrenches in her chest. She can’t do anything to ease his pain.

Solas arrives in minutes, kneeling beside the younger elf.

His face is grave, and his next words make Cassandra’s blood run cold.

“It’s spreading.”

******

Varric has never seen Arrow so still, so cold. There is a dark light in his eyes, cold and predatory.

He leans forward on the throne, hands curled tightly around the arms.

The Venatori glares back.

The Inquisitor rises, each step precise and measured as he moves down from the dais.

He leans down and smiles, baring sharp teeth.

“Tell me, shemlen, do you fear what we can do?”

“No.”

The Inquisitor laughs. It is a high, cold laugh that echoes through the silent hall.

Beside him, Varric sees Cassandra shiver, her mouth drawn in a tight line. She doesn’t like this side of her lover any more than he does.

“You will,” the Inquisitor says softly. “You will fear us, before the end.”

He turns, facing the throne. “You will be interrogated on what you know of Corypheus and then made Tranquil and your knowledge put to the use of the Inquisition.” He does not turn to look at the man he has sentenced to a living death.

The Venatori snarls curses as the guards drag him away.

Cassandra winces.

“Court is dismissed,” the Inquisitor says, before vanishing through a side door that leads down to the armory.

******

The Anchor feels like fire more often than not now, lines of flame that lick up his arm.

It aches, magic crackling across his skin nearly every waking moment. Two years since Corypheus’s death and the Anchor is unstable.

The mark crackles again and he leans forward in the hart’s saddle, trying so very hard not to scream.

Cassandra halts beside him.

“Vhenan?” she questions. He bites back the building shriek and instead a whimper escapes his lips.

After a moment, he manages to speak. “How far to Val Royeaux?”

“Two days.”

He hisses again, and feels the power rising like a wave within him. “Fenedhis!” he growls and knees the hart forward.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra shouts.

“Stay back!” he roars, raising his arm to the sky and the Anchor bursts to life, green energy rushing out, sharp and crackling. The air tremors once, twice and the mark quiets.

His breath is harsh, rasping.

“That does not bode well,” Dorian murmurs.

“Shit,” Varric says.

The Inquisitor turns, and lambent green etches its way up his left cheek to rest at the corner of his eye even as they watch.

“We’re running out of time,” he says.


	4. Starlight

The Well of Sorrows glitters in the dying light of summer. The sound of battle as faded away, leaving a heavy, eerie stillness behind.

Varric doesn’t like it at all. It feels like a trap waiting to be sprung. And they were standing right in the middle of it.

Arrow kneels beside the Well, Anchor-scarred hand just hovering a mere fingertip’s length from the water.

Morrigan scowls and Cassandra flits from one edge of the path to the other, her booted feet making no noise on the light stones.

Like Varric thought earlier, eerie.

Solas is quiet, grey eyes placid as he glances over the area. His fingers are bone-white around his staff. The elf is tense, waiting for something.

Varric is glad he’s not the only one whose nervous.

Beside the Well, Arrow unfastens his bracers., revealing green vallaslin that that winds, vine-like over his arms and hands. Varric had wondered if he had full-body vallaslin…

Quietly, the elf murmurs something and the sentinel standing nearby eyes him with what looks like approval but Varric isn’t close enough to tell for sure.

The Inquisitor rises, tucking his bracers into the inside of his armor. He takes a breath, wincing as the Anchor snaps, bright sparks bouncing across the water’s surface as if it was solid ice and not liquid water.

But he is still, waiting for the Anchor to subside and then walks into the Well.

* * *

 

“Why did you drink?!” Cassandra shouts, pacing back and forth.

“My People’s knowledge is ours, it doesn’t belong to any shemlen witch!” the Inquisitor yells back, voice echoing even in the chambers he occupies at the most remote part of Tarasyl’an Te’las.

“But we need you! What if the Well changes you?!”

“It has _not_ changed me, Cassandra!” he hisses, yellow eyes dark with anger and frustration. The Anchor cracks, green sparks arcing through the air to fizzle upon the stone floor.

The Inquisitor gives a sharp gasp of pain, clenching his teeth as the mark continues to glow brightly.

Cassandra makes as if to move towards him but he waves her back.

Long moments pass and the mark at last quiets, dulling to a dark almost black line across his palm.

He drops to his knees, eyes squeezed shut as he breathes. Cassandra kneels at his side.

“It’s getting worse?” she asks, voice low and worried.

“...since the second battle with Corypheus,” he answers. “it’s not expanding, it’s just…” he hisses sharply as the mark flares again, “..just painful…”

“Should I get Solas?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

* * *

 

“Heruamin lotirien, alai uethri maeria, Halurocon yalei nam bahna, dolin nereba maoma,” an elven woman sings in the courtyard.

The remainder of Clan Lavellan gathers at Skyhold and the Inquisitor is among them, moving from group to tattered group, yellow eyes dark with sorrow.

Others pick up the song, until the elven tongue rises to thrum through the air, soft and yet vibrant despite their grief.

The Inquisitor’s voice joins his people’s. Cassandra closes her eyes, head bowed as she rests on an overturned barrel. She knows the Inquisitor doesn’t care for Andraste or the Maker, but she will pray for his lost people just the same.

* * *

 

There is a shriek of anger from Josephine’s office. Arrow flicks his gaze over to the door from where he sits beside the fireplace, reading through a scout report.

“Bet you a sovereign that Buttercup did something,” Varric offers.

The Inquisitor laughs. “Not taking that bet, Varric.” The elf sets aside his report, one hand rubbing at the Anchor. Varric frowns at the motion, Arrow has been doing that for weeks now. The Anchor flickers beneath dark fingers but remains silent.

“I may or may not have seen Sera this morning creeping around muttering about bees and feathers…” Arrow says off-handedly.

Varric winces. “Kid should probably leave the pranks for a time when we are not all tense as taut bowstrings.”

“Indeed,” his boss agrees.

“SERA!” Josephine roars from behind her office door, her accent more pronounced for her rage. Arrow sighs, rising to his feet.

“I’ll go settle this,” he says and Varric nods.

“I can go talk to Buttercup,” the dwarf says. Arrow shakes his head.

“I’ll go to the tavern after I’ve talked with Josephine. I need to speak with Sera anyway.”

Varric tilts his head, agreeing to the Inquisitor’s will.

It does not escape him how Arrow’s left hand shakes as the Anchor shifts again.

* * *

 

Corypheus cackles somewhere above them and Arrow is snarling curses in elven as the group climbs.

The air crackles in response to the darkspawn magister’s spell. Rocks floating as the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes rises higher into the sky. The Breach is glowing green, bright and terrifying.

Arrow moves like the wind, leaping up the floating rocks with terrible grace, Cassandra and Varric scrambling after.

Solas has no problem keeping up, manipulating the Fade to move with the Inquisitor.

“This ends here, Corypheus!” the Inquisitor roars, yellow eyes ablaze, the Anchor flaring to life in his palm.

The magister only laughs. “Let us see who is truly worthy of godhood!” he rumbles, raising one hand high, an orb clasped within blackened talons.

They run into battle once more and at last the Inquisitor tears the magister apart with the power of the Anchor, ending the threat that has hung over their heads for _years_.

Varric loses sight of the elf as the ruins begin to fall. Solas manages to catch the dwarf with a Fade step along with Cassandra, but the Inquisitor is nowhere to be seen.

Cassandra’s scream of despair rings in their ears as the trio descends.

The ruins settle back into the earth with a _thud_ that is felt for miles around. The Seeker tears herself from Solas’s grip and runs for the center of the Temple.

“Revas’mi!” she screams, climbing over fallen stone and skirting cracked red lyrium.

“Freedom blade,” Solas translates the Seeker’s shout. “The Inquisitor’s name. And he let me call him an arrow. Hmm.”

“Come on, Chuckles!” Varric says, following Cassandra. The Inquisitor stumbles out from the ruins, a broken orb in his hands.

He drops to his knees, the fragments tumbling to the ground as the elf collapses.

Cassandra comes to a halt at his side. “I’m not leaving you yet,” he says, the words soft and warm. Varric barely hears the murmured words as he arrives.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra breathes, throwing her arms around the elf.

The Inquisitor smiles.

“Hahren,” he says, addressing Solas over his lover’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about the orb.”

“It is alright, Inquisitor,” Solas replies, though his voice is sad and quiet.

Varric has little time to wonder why exactly as the rest of the Inquisition thunders up to them, congratulation on everyone’s lips.

* * *

 

The partying lasts long into the night and redoubles after the announcement of the new Divine.

Leliana smiles from her seat, one of her ravens cawing on her shoulder and accepting small bits of chicken from the spymaster’s fingers.

“I’ll have to start training a replacement,” she says. “But we will have time enough for that after everyone has slept off their hangovers.”

Revas’mi laughs from where he is practically sitting in Cassandra’s lap. The warrior is blushing, her tankard of ale resting before her. Her arms are curled around the Inquisitor’s waist.

The elf rests his head against hers, smiling. “May your reign be long and the path before you smooth,” he says to the newest head of the Chantry.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Leliana says.

Varric couldn’t have foreseen such a happy ending to this whole thing. He’s actually thinking of writing a book. The Inquisitor Lavellan story: All this Shit is Weird. It’s a working title.

He smiles as Revas’mi kisses Cassandra. Not a bad ending at all.


	5. Mala Suledin Nadas

Varric almost regrets writing the book, seeing Cassandra’s face as she reads through the first copy.

But Arrow is beside her, the first smile that Varric has seen in ages resting across his lips. The Anchor is gone, returned to the mage he had once called Chuckles.

Solas, Fen-Harel, whatever his name was, would be stopped, the Inquisitor had declared.

The Inquisition would remain, as it would be needed to keep order. Revas’mi had shouted down the entire Council, eyes bright with pain, teeth bared in a snarl as he announced his decision.

Divine Victoria (Leliana always, because it feels so _weird_ calling her Victoria) had accepted the Inquisitor’s choice and had managed to calm the Council after Revas’mi had left.

He had made it a few feet past the doors, before stumbling. Cassandra and Varric were there to catch him.

It’s been months since then and Varric just got the final copy back from his editor. He knew exactly who to let read it first.

“Come on, Arrow,” Varric says cheerfully, peering around the corner into the upper part of the smithy. “I’ve got a book I think you’d like.”

The elf smiles now, the hand made of enchanted metal forged by Dagna glowing silver in the lantern light as he sits at the edge of Cassandra’s chair.

“You kept it in, the part about my clan…” he says quietly, having passed the book over to his lover after reading it.

“I couldn’t just leave it out. It’s a huge part of your story. They’re your family. They’re just as important as the rest of it.”

Arrow presses his right hand to his mouth and turns his head away. Varric catches a glimpse of a tears pooling at the corners of the elf’s eyes.

“Thank you, Varric,” Revas’mi says softly. “ _Ma serranas, falon.”_

Cassandra curls a hand around his wrist. “Vhenan?” she questions.

Revas’mi is quiet for a moment. Cassandra sets aside the book and pulls the elf into her lap, wrapping her arms around his slight frame before reaching for the book again.

The elf sighs, resting his head against her shoulder.

“ _Ar lath ma, ara sa’lath,”_ he murmurs.

Cassandra hums, brown eyes focused on the book once more. “Always.”

Varric wonders quietly if he should leave them when Cassandra clears her throat and speaks.

“We will find you later, Varric,” Cassandra informs him, voice brooking no argument.

“Of course,” the dwarf says, bowing slightly. “Later then.”

* * *

 

Sunlight is breaking over the battlements as the Inquisitor’s group departs for the southern reaches of Thedas.

The Inquisitor’s hart lets out a loud cry as Arrow urges her onwards. Cassandra follows him, shaking her head at her lover’s enthusiasm.

He’s been wanting to get out of Skyhold for weeks now and the reports of sightings of Fen’Harel in the south are enough to warrant the Inquisition’s attention.

Varric only sighs, nudging his horse into a trot after his companions, Sera’s horse right behind him.

“This’ll be fun!” she says grinning, “Gonna show Baldy he’s not so great yeah?”

Varric laughs.

Up ahead Revas’mi is singing, his voice raised high in the familiar cadence of what Varric recognizes as the Orlesian version of ‘Sera was never’.

 _“Sera jamais ne fut une demoiselle du monde, en elle souffle un vent de fronde,"_ the Inquisitor sings merrily.

Varric fights a smile.

Sera hisses something under her breath and kicks her mount into a gallop.

Cassandra is hiding her laughter behind one gauntleted hand.

 _“Mais elle est si agile avec son arc, on s'demande tous d'où elle débarque!”_ Arrow continues, dodging the half-hearted punch that Sera throws at him.

“If ya gonna sing something, pick something else!” the other elf growls. “I hate that song!”

“Killjoy,” Arrow returns. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

Sera grins wickedly.

Varric snickers as the two launch into a particularly dirty song about Circles and Templars. Cassandra makes a noise of disgust, even as a small smile flickers across her lips.

At least, things are never boring around with the Inquisition, Varric reflects. More interesting than paying bills and hiding from his editor.

“Come on, Varric,” Arrow calls. “I know you know this song!”

“Why don’t you ask the Seeker to join in?” Varric asks.

Cassandra rolls her eyes.

Arrow laughs. “I value my safety, dear Varric. Although I’m sure my vehnan wouldn’t actually hurt me…”

“I will kick your ass in the sparring ring, my lovely Inquisitor,” Cassandra says, smiling.

“Case and point,” Arrow says, gesturing to his paramour.

Varric gives in. “Which version of this song are we singing anyway?”

The two elves turn to look at him. “There’s another version?!” they ask in unison.

“Yep,” Varric confirms. “At least four different ones last time I checked.”

“Teach us!”

Varric can’t quite bring himself to regret the decision to teach the two all the lyrics to “Once there was a Templar”. Even if Cassandra is giving him death glares all the way to the Hinterlands.

There are after all, worse things to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty folks, this is the end of the road. I'm glad y'all enjoyed it! If I get more inspiration for Revas'mi and the Inquisition, there may be more in this 'verse. Until then, thank you and good night!


End file.
